Turn Your Face to the Sun
by lotusflower85
Summary: Obi-Wan chronicles his exile on Tatooine.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ****Written for the 2015 Dear Diary Challenge over at the TFN boards. Also, the****proverb in this part and from which the title is taken is actually a quote attributed to Charlotte Whitton.**

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><p>Dear Qui-Gon,<p>

I am tired of talking into thin air, so I have decided to write down my meditation. I have resolved not to return to Dannar's Claim unless necessary, since I am unsure of my reception there now that Annileen is gone. I was able to get a transport to Bestine to purchase a few personal items including the journal in which I now write these words. On this planet it actually seems like it will be more durable than a datapad, and I find writing very therapeutic - something about the elegant movement of a stylus on paper seems so much more civilised than the tip and tap of fingers on a datapad.

Since I fear discovery of the boy more than anything, I have also purchased a small locker with a combination access code, in which I will store this journal as well as my lightsaber. And of course, the lightsaber of….

I've discovered that Anakin is alive – no – I should use his new name. Darth Vader. I immediately went to the Lars homestead, as this changes things dramatically. Owen and Beru decided to let Luke carry the name of Skywalker rather than Lars, evidently to honour Anakin's mother. I saw no problem with this before, as he is their child now and thus it is their decision. However with Vader alive the situation is much more dangerous for us all. I know that Anakin hated this planet and would have no reason to return, and it is too late for Owen and Beru to claim Luke as their child. And yet it seems so dangerous. I seek your guidance Master, and hope you will come to give me counsel on this matter.

But then I recall you were an exemplary teacher, and so much of what I seek you have already shown me. I remember what you told me once when I was still a padawan and had made a mess of our mission on Alaris. You said:_turn your face to the sun, and let the shadows fall behind you_. Well, Qui-Gon, this planet has two suns and twice as many shadows, but the advice is apt. What is done is done, and I must look to the future, now.

And yet I cannot stop thinking of Anakin, how how I failed him, and how ill-qualified I am to protect his son. How can I not blame myself for his fall? It was my responsibility to train him, to teach him to be strong enough to resist the dark - did I not love him as more than a brother, was I not respectful and silent regarding his relationship with Padmé because I knew it made him happy, did I not encourage his strengths and try to reign in his excesses? And yet I failed, as I failed the Council and the Republic, as I fear I will fail Luke...

I can almost hear you chiding me, Qui-Gon, that blame and self-pity are as helpful as carrying stones in one's pockets. I must not let the shadows take me, but turn away if I am ever to protect the boy, on whom all our hopes rest.

I will heed your advice, Master. I will hide in the sun, in plain sight, and hope that the light dwarfs all who look too close. I will trust in the Force, and myself, and I will not fail.

Obi-Wan Kenobi


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Qui-Gon

This place is so barren. I remembered that, of course, from the first time I was here. But then I kept mostly to the ship, with only minimal exposure to the elements. And of course as a child Anakin never shut up about the place - the coarseness of the sand and the harsh twin suns which bleached fabric, burnt skin and cracked the already brittle earth. At first it was in comparison to the sights and sounds of Coruscant and the splendor of the city; Tatooine desolate where Coruscant was teeming with life. Unbearable heat versus climate-controlled, perfect weather. The latest technology of the Core versus equipment and droids cobbled together from numerous sources; where even tech that was barely functioning was highly prized. Wealth and amusements versus a meager living where water was valued above all else.

As the novelty of the city wore off, Anakin would mention the planet in passing, almost as if his hard early life as a slave set him above the other padawans who had all grown up in the Jedi Temple. They had formed bonds with one another as younglings, their clans becoming their families as they grew from initiates into apprentices. Anakin had no such luxury, becoming my padawan immediately - which in hindsight may explain his lack of understanding that to be a Jedi is to be one of a whole rather than a collection of individuals. That is however my failing as a teacher. At the time I did not see his prideful scorn of the other apprentices as indicative of anything darker, I merely thought him competitive. Now that I recall those days, Anakin seemed to despise Tatooine, but also had a strange sort of conceit that it had made him stronger than the others. More hardy, perhaps.

Once his mother died, of course, he never mentioned his homeworld again.

It occurs to me that I am back where this whole journey began. And yet this time the world is to become my new home, even though the heat is almost unbearable and my moisture vaporator keeps malfunctioning. I have never been mechanically minded and I am embarrassed to say that the thing confounds me. If only Anakin were here, he would have it fixed within a few minutes – probably even improve its functionality.

But I must not think that. Anakin is dead.

I visited the boy today. He is so tiny, so fragile. Yet he is a happy enough child, and well cared for by the Lars couple. I went under the pretext of purchasing some water from their farm and asking if they knew of an honest mechanic who could fix my vaporator. Beru seems a sweet girl, and yet also rather sharp.

"Owen is out on the north ridge," she explained as she let me inside. "But I gather you knew that."

I had indeed waited until Owen had left for the day and was out of sight of the homestead. Other than my first conversation with him over the comm, the man has not spoken to me, and in fact kept his back turned when I delivered the boy to their care. When I gave them the news of Vader he had said nothing, and simply glowered and left Beru to ask the pertinent questions.

"Forgive me if I am imposing," I told her, and I regret causing her any distress.

Beru simply handed me Luke as she went to prepare the tea, or rather the Tatooine version of tea made from harvested H'Kak beans. It is orange in colour and not unpleasant, although quite different from the tarine tea I once favoured. Still, I am resolved to acquire a taste for it.

I will not embarrass myself by describing the silly faces and cooing I performed to delight little Luke – I'm not quite sure what came over me, but it suddenly seemed very, very important to make the boy laugh.

"I am trying to talk Owen around," Beru informed me, as she finished preparing the tea and brought it over to the table. "He does not want you visiting."

"I understand," I acknowledged. "I have come here to protect Luke, and if I must do that from a distance, so be it."

"Owen only wants what's best for Luke," Beru pressed. "He already loves the boy so much, and thinks only of keeping him safe. If his father should return…"

"I do not believe he will," I told her. "And I will feel his presence, if he does."

Beru looked down at her tea then. "I'm afraid I still do not understand your powers."

I decided to let the point stand – any good negotiator knows when not to press too hard. "He is a very calm child," I observed, although not having much experience with infants I had little to compare that to.

"Yes, he is," Beru said with a sweet smile on her face. I can already tell that little Luke has become her whole world. "Most of the time – but he becomes quite agitated when someone around him is upset, even if they are not holding him."

"He is attuned to the world around him," I told her. "He…will have powers, too."

Both Luke and Leia were tested for midi-chlorians when blood samples were taken soon after birth, and each of them had a count of approximately 20,000 per cell, only slightly less than Anakin. At such levels it is only natural that the twins will start to exhibit abilities congruent with such sensitivity. This was explained to Bail Organa, and I have no doubt that as Princess of Alderaan young Leia will have the royal training required to channel these gifts in perfectly ordinary pursuits unlikely to raise suspicions.

Luke is another matter, especially growing up on a planet where he will be faced with much hard work and little reward. Tatooine is almost completely devoid of life, and I had hoped that this would in fact dampen his connection to the Force. The Force is present in all living things, and it has been my experience that the more life a planet has, the greater connection a Jedi can forge with the Force. On Tatooine, however, there is little life to draw on, and indeed I have struggled to achieve a deep connection with the Force.

And yet as I held Luke in my arms I realised that his potential was undiminished by his harsh surroundings. He shines brightly in the Force; a light aura around him that both thrilling and frightening in equal measure. But how to explain this to his guardians?

"Owen will return soon," Beru said pointedly. She took Luke from me then, and held him close to her breast, kissing the crown of blonde hair on his head. I decided the let the matter drop for now, in hopes that I will be welcome when I visit again. I sense in Beru I will have a great ally, and will need one to counter Owen's obstinacy.

For what, though, remains uncertain. As you know, Qui-Gon, a plan has yet to be formed regarding either child. Our first priority is their safety, of course, but what of the future? Are they to be trained as Jedi or kept in anonymity? Either path has its risks, and I do not fancy trying to convince Owen Lars to let me train the boy under any circumstances. And yet I sense that the galaxy will have need of the Skywalker twins, sooner of later, and that it will not always be possible to shield Luke from the burdens of his bloodline. I hope, Qui-Gon, that you will come soon and give me counsel.

Until then I remain ever your apprentice,

Obi-Wan Kenobi


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Qui-Gon,

Thank you for your counsel this morning. I admit that I only heard your voice very faintly, but I have been working on the exercises you suggested and hope that in time I will be able to converse with you properly. Dare I hope that I will be able to see you in corporeal form, as I did on Mortis? But that planet was teeming with the Force, it was no effort to perceive you. I have been cautious, using my powers only as necessary so not to project – I dare not try and reach out to Master Yoda in case Vader somehow senses me. Perhaps Yoda is being equally cautious, for I have not yet heard from him on Dagobah.

I imagine he –

Qui-Gon, some hours have elapsed since writing the above words. I had an unexpected visitor: Owen Lars. He appeared at my front door with a sour look on his face, and yet despite his countenance I welcomed him inside. He declined, but cast a cursory look around my small hut and did not seem impressed. He should have seen my quarters at the Jedi Temple - compared to that my new home is spacious! But I chose not to make this comment, and instead asked what I had done to deserve the pleasure of his company.

"Beru says your vaporator's busted," Owen said, and even with all of my Jedi insight that was the last thing I expected.

I wondered whether Beru forced him to come and assist me, or if hearing her speak of it he had simply taken it upon himself. Owen strikes me as the kind of man who would not let another suffer if it was within his power to assist – however he may feel about the person in question. In any event I was grateful, since the mechanics in Anchorhead had refused to journey across the Dune Sea to inspect the life-giving machinery.

Owen spoke little, but diligently worked on the vaporator located outside of my hut. I nonetheless tried to engage him in conversation – asking technical questions about moisture farming, requesting advice about the area and enquiring after Beru and Luke.

"I must thank you – again – for taking the boy in," I told him, after several attempts at conversations were answered monosyllabically. "After all, he is not your blood kin."

"No. But he's still family," Owen said gruffly into the vaporator. I didn't have a response for this, and it was a while before Owen spoke again.

"Do you have a family, Kenobi?" he asked eventually. "People out there missing you – wondering where you are?" From Beru, such questions may have been rippled with concern, but from Owen they were nothing but accusations.

My family are all gone, I wanted to tell him. He thinks me so detached, so unfeeling. I wanted to tell him about those I've loved that I've lost – you, Qui-Gon - Siri and Satine and Ventress, Ahsoka and Mace and Rex. Luminara, Aayla, Kit, Shaak Ti. Padmé. I could fill these pages with their names and there would still not be enough room. I wanted to tell him that the Jedi were my brothers and sisters, and that rather than searching for those who have survived this terrible purge so I can can be with them, I remain here to watch over the son of the man who was closer than my brother, and more than my friend. The very man who is at this moment committing this genocide against his own people – who is probably hunting me, intent on my death more than any other.

I wanted to tell Owen that every time another one of my comrades dies I can feel it, in my heart and my mind and my soul. It is a death by a thousand cuts, but even worse than that pain is the fear that one day I will no longer be able to feel my brothers and sisters join the Force. On that day I will truly be alone.

But I told Owen none of this, because it cannot possibly assist either of us.

"Anakin was my family," I told him instead. "And therefore so is the boy."

Owen gave me a look of utter contempt, and I realised that I had erred in my choice of words.

"His name is Luke," Owen told me as he turned back to the vaporator, twisting his hydrospanner into the machinery forcefully.

"I know that." I admit, my patience in that moment wore thin – who was this farmer to condescend to me like that? Anakin had been more my brother than his.

But I know you always used to say, Qui-Gon, that pride is not a weakness if tempered with humility – that one should acknowledge their own worth, just not in comparison or competition with others. It was these words I thought of, reminding myself of the advantages and experiences I have had, and those I have not. I do not know what it is to be a husband or father, to have the responsibility of keeping a family alive in a tough and inhospitable landscape. I would have raised Anakin's son myself if I thought I was capable of it, and despite our differences I do believe Owen and Beru better qualified.

As such, if I am ever to be allowed to visit Luke, and not relegated to watching over him from afar, I must keep Owen onside. Or at the very least not completely alienate him. I must hold my tongue, and save my complaining for you, Qui-Gon!

When Owen finished his work he deigned to explain to me to problem so that I could fix it myself should it happen again. I thanked him cordially, and held out my hand. Owen hesitated, but took it, and that felt like a victory.

"I only want to protect Luke," I told him, grasping his hand.

"I know," Owen said, and his gruff voice was a trifle softer. "But I don't want to see you at my home, Kenobi." His eyes met mine for the first time, and I saw nothing but steely resolve, felt nothing but determination as he dropped out of our brief handshake. And yet there was no malice in his words – simply a statement of fact.

What could do I do but tell him that I understood? He seemed satisfied by that, and left so he could make it home before darkness fell and the Tuskens started their hunts. He was probably mollified with the encounter, and I was happy to provide him with that satisfaction.

Ah, but you see, Qui-Gon, I am looking at Owen's words from a different point of view than he perhaps intended. He did not say that I was not to visit the homestead – rather, that he did not wish to see me there. So there is nothing to prevent me from visiting Luke if Owen is not at home, correct?

I hope you can see me Qui-Gon – I am smiling.

Obi-Wan


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Qui-Gon,

As you likely see and hear everything, it will not surprise you to learn that I have finally been able to commune with Master Yoda. It was a dangerous exercise, but well worth the risk. Given my barren surroundings dampening my connection to the Force I set out to find a location better suited to reaching out to Master Yoda across the expanse of space.

My first option was the city of Mos Eisley, as close to a metropolis as Tatooine offers, where a plethora of living beings pulsate and sing with the Force. And yet the distance poses a barrier to regular communication, not to mention the privacy concerns. My face may be still well known enough to the intragalactic clientele who frequent the city, not to mention the bounty which I am certain is on my head, meaning that my image is transmitted into every scum hole, drive bar and cantina.

So where else on the Sith-forsaken desert planet am I to find life? It was then I remembered my rescue of young Kallie Calwell from a field of Sarlaccs, not long after I first arrived on Tatooine. The creatures pulsated with life despite their dormancy, and I knew that their presence in the Force would not only augment my own abilities, but mask them. And yet the journey out into the Dune Sea was still an immense undertaking – my epoie Rooh would not be persuaded to take me, no doubt remembering that harrowing day where we both almost fell victim to the sarlaccs. I do not blame her. She is my lone friend here, and the only one I can talk to. Other than you, Qui-Gon, but of course she is flesh and blood, and I find that sometimes makes a difference.

Oh, if the Obi-Wan of fifteen years ago could have heard that! Sometimes I envy that boy so sure of his convictions and place in the galaxy. And yet, he was a young, dispassionate fool who thought other life forms pathetic and beneath him. No, even with all that I have suffered, I would rather be me than him. I have learned so much, and still have more to learn. I know that now.

But I digress. I journeyed out into the Wastes where I knew several sarlaccs dwelled and was able to conceal my presence from them while reaching out into the galaxy and call to Yoda. He answered almost immediately, and explained that Dagobah was a planet teeming with the Force, light and dark, enough to mask him and yet also enable him a deep communion with the Force itself. I am not sure if I envy this or not.

I asked him if his meditations had revealed to him the future; whether we had made the right choice going into exile rather than standing firm to fight this new Empire. On this point Yoda was obtuse and cryptic as always, which leads me to believe he has not found the answers either. He advised me to stay the course and protect the infant Skywalker; that is my task. Perhaps someday we will form a more concrete plan, but for now I will heed Master Yoda's advice, and endure.

Obi-Wan Kenobi


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Qui-Gon,

I find time passes very slowly on Tatooine. I've only been here six months, and it already feels like six years. The days are long and bright, and I can feel my skin begin to weather under the twin suns. There is little to occupy my days, and I content myself with meditation, talking to you or communicating with Yoda. Occasionally I go into town to get supplies, but I do not want my face to be too well known.

Every morning Rooh and I make the journey through the Wastes and across the Dune Sea to the Lars homestead. I always make sure to arrive after Owen is up on the ridges tending to the vaporators, and Beru is in the home going about her daily chores. I sit with Luke and let her work, the brief time enough to content myself that the boy is safe, loved and well cared for.

Today he was asleep when I got there, and I held him in my arms, marveling at the wispy blond hair, the features which are so familiar to me. His expressions are much like Anakin's, although sometimes I see dear Padmé as well, when the boy smiles.

He is not a calm sleeper, constantly wiggling and shifting in my arms as if always striving for a more comfortable position. And yet he sleeps soundly, his movements instinctive. Beru was particularly talkative today, and I discovered that Luke had been unsettled the previous night and wouldn't stop crying. This is not unusual for a child his age, Beru told me, but when Luke's cries reached their zenith the power in the room went out.

"Owen is convinced it was a generator glitch," Beru said, wringing her hands. "But…you said that Luke has the same powers that you and Anakin have."

"Yes," I replied, and I could see she suspected that Luke's distress triggered the lighting malfunction. A sound assumption. "He is very strong in the Force," I told her.

"And you can't...take it away?"

"No – I'm sorry." I truly was, because I could see her distress. In her eyes, Luke's Force potential was a danger to him – it made discovery far more likely, especially if his emotions were having physical consequences. "When he's older, he can learn how to control it."

Beru did not seem comforted. "And what will stop him from falling to the…dark side...like his father?"

"The proper training," I told her. "Discipline and self-control."

"Was Anakin not properly trained?"

Her words struck me. "No," I said after a long silence. "He wasn't." Looking back, I see only my mistakes with Anakin – my indulgence. I loved him, but I'm not sure I ever really understood him. I certainly didn't give him what he needed.

"But you think you can train Luke?" Beru asked, and the tone of her voice was a trifle sharp. I do not blame her, for what assurances are there that I would not make the same mistakes as I did with Anakin?

"Yes," I told her, with as much conviction as I could muster. What other choice was there? And besides, I have learnt from those mistakes. I hope.

"And what would you want of him, if he is trained?" Beru pressed when I did not answer.

"The Empire cannot stand forever," I said. "It may take years, but I believe that good will prevail."

"So you want to make him a Jedi," Beru turned her face away. "A soldier."

"Perhaps." In truth I am still undecided.

"You had thousands of Jedi," Beru pointed out, "and they were not enough to stop the Empire rising."

"We were betrayed," I said, a bitter twist in my heart. "And unprepared. This time we won't be." I looked down at little Luke, still asleep, his tiny hand curled around one of my fingers. Luke is not his father, I remind myself; he radiates pure light.

"Luke is just one," Beru told me, stepping forward to lightly brush the boy's hair back. "What difference can he possibly make?"

Of course, Luke is not just one – I think of Leia on Alderaan in the care of Bail Organa. He is unlikely having the same dilemma that I am. He is without the Force, and so will be raising Leia as Queen Breha's heir as he would have done his own blood daughter. I doubt he has given much thought to her Jedi potential – but then I suppose neither have Yoda or I.

Owen and Beru know nothing of Leia, of course. Somehow I think they would not approve of us separating the children.

Luke awoke in my arms then, his chubby cheeks prominent as he cracked a wide smile, his eyes a brilliant blue as they bored into mine. He wiggled and I lifted him upright, securing my grip under his arms and letting him kick his feet down towards my lap, trying to stand.

"Hello, little one," I said softly, and was rewarding with a babbling laugh.

The tension in Beru's shoulders seemed to ease, and she smiled as any indulgent mother would. "He likes you," she said. "That's why I let you visit."

I thanked her heartedly, since I knew my contact with Luke was entirely dependent on Beru's goodwill. And although the circumstances are not what I would like them to be, I remind myself that Luke is thriving under their care.

"Ba-ba," Luke said, a cheeky grin on his face as a sliver of drool ran down his chin. Beru laughed and wiped off the spittle with a cloth.

"You see," she said, as if being salivated on was a mark of approval. But I didn't mind, and engaged in some more embarrassing cooing with the boy as he kicked his legs and laughed. He's strong, always moving and unable to sit still – I remember Anakin was much the same as a child. At the end of my rope, I once asked Mace for some advice in teaching Anakin to sit through a meditation session without his usual fidgeting, huffing and exclamations of boredom. Mace suggested that every time Anakin broke concentration, we start the meditation all over again, and eventually the boy would learn patience.

Suffice to say I gave up after eighteen hours. I don't think Anakin ever actually mastered that skill, in the end.

I suppose this was reflective of his life here on Tatooine, before his training. He was a slave, a commodity, and therefore every moment he was not doing something useful was a moment wasted, a moment when he was not performing as expected. I did not see this clearly until now, did not understand how profoundly his early hardship affected him.

Does he meditate now? Is he even able to in that suit that sustains him? It must require intense concentration to even keep himself alive, and I wonder if that occupies him enough. There is scant news of him on the holonet; he is a specter, a bogeyman, where once he was the holonet prince, the galaxy's greatest hero. How far he has fallen.

How far we've all fallen.

Obi-Wan Kenobi


End file.
